


Foreweard

by baku_midnight



Series: Hex: Ruin [2]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Paganism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ritual Sex, Sex Magic, Size Difference, Size Kink, Threats of Violence, noncon to be safe but he's pretty into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:19:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24087985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baku_midnight/pseuds/baku_midnight
Summary: The sacrifice of one villager each month stalls the reappearance of the monster of the woods, but only for a short while. Dwight is chosen to be the next offering—but can he manage to be the last?
Relationships: Dwight Fairfield/Evan MacMillan | The Trapper
Series: Hex: Ruin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714105
Comments: 3
Kudos: 161





	Foreweard

**Author's Note:**

> You can come visit me on tumblr @bakudraws for drawings of this horrible couple!

They had divested him of his outerwear. His simple frock, quaint as it was, was confiscated and his breeches torn. Only a loose white shirt, opened obscenely, and knickers remained, along with dressy shoes unsuited to the mud of the wilds, and, mercifully, his spectacles, so that he might witness his fate with clarity. Dwight sat upon his knees at the edge of the wood, wrists tethered above his head to a pike—a _pyre_ , more like, monument to his sacrifice.

Dwight had long been expecting this fate. He was not a strong man, nor a man of useful intellect, nor did his wealth bring good tidings to the village. His resilience was the only boon to his usefulness. He was good for little else than being endless culprit: when the crops turned dry and sour, it was his fault for not tending them enough. When the village grew poor and the king, wretched and spindly as he was, taxed them heavily, it was Dwight's fault, as his mercantile business did not turn enough profit. His very manner seemed to abhor his fellow villagers, and as such it was little surprise when they chose him as the next in a string of unsuccessful offerings.

And how shameful, how uncivilized a solution it was: a sacrifice of flesh, like offered the pagans of old to their heathen rulers. Dwight was ashamed of the more primitive of his ilk, whose attachment to old medicine and spells could not be broken despite the sinful nature of it. He had hoped to die in another manner, apart from this sacrilege. If he weren’t so frightened to die, Dwight might have the good sense to be _annoyed_.

Perhaps it was in the nature of Dwight to make himself vulnerable to the above proceedings. He could little keep himself from coming forward when there was something to be done, when all others backed away. He was determined to survive whatever hardship, to suffer through it, rather than escape it. He was the one who stood, bright-eyed, when the matters fell to him, and everyone else, his supposed friends included, stepped away and left him standing on his own, so perhaps it held that he would be selected for this.

It was known that a creature stalked the woods, and came on occasion to violate the town, stealing young men and women, massacring livestock, and leaving remains of his putrid villainy all about. The village's only recourse was to sacrifice one of their own every few months in hope of satisfying the creature's hunger, and it seemed to be effective, if only for a while: after a young person was shackled to the pike and left to rot in the woods, the violence to their fair town stopped for a matter of months, only to start, inevitably, again.

Dwight looked at his lap, slouched to the musty earth, legs bent awkwardly and sideways beneath his hips. His arms and joints ached from the position he was compelled into by his kinsmen, who had stripped him of defences and fastened him here. To add further insult they had drugged Dwight, forcing sour tonic between his lips to make him sluggish and limit his struggling. It had little effect but to further his humiliation; his physical strength lent no help to his cause as he struggled to free himself from the mob that bore him hither. No, indeed, the sleeping draught was not necessary, but instead the product of some lust for sadistic entertainment with which his fellow villagers treated him.

Dwight tried to blow his bangs from his face. His hair, damp from struggle and the misty, low air of the forest, fell onto his forehead, and with his hands bound, he could not reach it. He could console himself only in the realization that the creature from the woods had not come for him yet. It left Dwight free to expire from thirst, alone, unwanted, as such he had long expected his fate to be.

What manner of creature it was, Dwight wasn't sure. Some in his—former—kinship claimed to have seen it, and reported great, long limbs, a sloping gait and mangled face. Others insisted it was like a bear that walked upright, and yet others said it was a serpent, with scales of iron and slime. Some spun tales of impossible proportions: a human man who stood nearly eight spans, the width of his shoulders that of two men stood abreast, the weight of his steps like poles being driven into the ground. It was a beast that raved, that thought only of killing, for nothing else would satisfy its desire for blood. Dwight shuddered to think about it, doubting not even the wildest exaggerations.

A rustling came from the adjacent copse, and Dwight's body drew tense with fear, his spine tightening rigidly, his heart leaping. _Just a rabbit_ , he willed himself think, or a deer. The trees wriggled and swayed. For a long, miserable moment Dwight saw nothing but the far-off fidgeting of brush and frond, until appeared from the wood a manly figure, with massive, grasping arm arriving first from behind a trunk.

Dwight slammed his eyes shut. His fate had come too soon, and suddenly he was not ready. He expected to be ripped in two and devoured shortly and was not keen to look upon his killer. The creature would cleave and eat him, surely, whether right away or after a period of torture—

When neither blow, nor shriek of bestial anger came, Dwight opened one eye, and then the other. Before him was a pair of legs, certainly human in shape and girth. The menace stood before him, breath breaking like that of a wild boar.

Dwight endeavoured to look up, as long as his head remained on his shoulders. 

The creature, so it was, was a man, indeed with a length of eight spans, his weight and heft unmeasured but it seemed like a butchered horse would lie neatly across his shoulders. Under a long overcoat he wore workman's overalls, and over his face a mask made of bone or white birch, grotesque and freckled with brown and black. He boasted no unusual features, no scales, no fur, no gnashing teeth, but in his hand— _oh save him God_ —was a long, notched cleaver.

Dwight whimpered a little and shook his head. His hands remained bound, his vision sluggish, catching up with the frantic turn of his head as the drugs clawed at his constitution. When no blow of the cleaver fell immediately between his shoulders, he looked cautiously up again.

The creature was not a raving beast but instead still, and calm. Lucid. The words with which he addressed Dwight demonstrated this.

"They’ve sent me an older one, this time," the creature said, "good. The small and young ones were too fragile, and expired too quickly."

Dwight swallowed at the implication those words carried. He peered at the creature with brown eyes wide.

"Keen, well-formed, of good health" the creature assessed, and reached out to stroke a finger down Dwight's cheek and neck, making the lad shudder. His skin was of rough wood, or leather turned hard after years of exposure.

Shortly, the creature withdrew a knife from where it was secured at his side, and raised it over Dwight's head. But instead of lopping off an ear for his macabre collection, he cut Dwight's bonds.

Dwight slumped forward as his hands fell free and landed in his lap. He wrung his sore wrists as blood returned there, breathing a breath of relief.

"Stand up. Let me see you," the creature said.

Dwight trembled. His knees, planted so long beneath him, were weak, and the medicine that still flowed in his blood made him hideously sluggish. He could not flee even if unconfined by the creature that seemed more like a man.

"I... can’t," Dwight stuttered, bowing his head.

"Very well," the creature replied, and lifted him up instead.

Dwight curled nervously into the creature's embrace, if only because he found the ground growing distant beneath him as he was hefted high onto the creature-man's shoulders. Indeed, this near to the scent of his breath, Dwight could tell he was a _man_ , or at least wore the outward visage of one. The man bore him from the pyre from which he was freed and into the woods, those deep and dark and wet with legend, with mosses growing heavily between roots, and trees seeming to turn as if to grant them passage—or to recoil from the beastly personage that visited them.

Indeed, Dwight was not sure what to think of the man that held him. He knew only tales of terror and mindless destruction, an inhuman thing that ate God-fearing people and lived alone in the woods. But this man had spoken to him plainly, and conveyed him carefully.

Never before had Dwight the good sense to stay quiet and preserve his dignity or living self, so neither would he now, it seemed, as he couldn’t help but ask, “what thing are you?”

The man huffed, his breath jostling inside his barrel chest and rumbling beneath Dwight’s middle. “ _‘What thing’_ , forsooth. Call me Evan.”

Beside them passed rows of broad-trunked trees, their beds thick with ferns and bushes, leaves and rot. The light grew dimmer as both shade and nighttime encroached, and soon a sullen grey was all that could be seen in all directions. Shortly, a blueish glow, like that of a mushroom in a cave, bloomed in the glen ahead, growing stronger and more vivid with each step they took. Finally, up rose a structure with stone walls, diminutive and ornately kept enough to be a sepulcher, but slightly broader and with a door with no manner of lock. A lit torch by the door provided the pervading light, but it bore a frostbite-blue halo that glowed around a flame the shade of aqua stone.

"Can you stand?" the man, Evan, asked, and Dwight tested his toes by bending them up and back down. Tingles trickled up his shins, which hung over one of Evan’s broad arms.

"I think so," Dwight attested, and found the ground again. Shakily he stood on the stoop of the temple-crypt, shivering to lose the heat of his captor's body—for he _was_ captive, yes? His destiny yet to make a meal for this mad beast of the woods?

"Good," the man grunted, and went into the temple, pushing Dwight firmly before him. Dwight sensed that the hand that came to his shoulder could snap any of his bones as if they were kindling, and swiftly obeyed.

Inside of the shrine-temple was stone, with walls and fixtures of stone, a table of stone in the centre, and shelves of wood lining each wall. Implements of medicine, like knives and bandages, tinctures and bowls, sparsely filled the shelves, along with ceremonial goods in silver and pewter. Evan lit the sconces upon the ashen walls, and they washed the room in yellow light.

Dwight assumed the place to be of pagan invention, and thus all of the objects inside marked by blasphemous intent. Even the bowls and spoons he rather feared, due to the teachings of his entire juvenile life warning him of the evils of "old" magic and nature-idolizing witches. He swallowed and dared touch nothing while the man went about finding things here and there. A bottle he retrieved and washed his hands with the liquid he poured therefrom. He took a rag to sweep the stone table in the room's centre clear of dust and debris, though the state of the place was immaculate as though recently cleaned. On top of that table he placed a soft pelt and a blanket on top of that.

"The last four did not survive the ritual to its completion," the man murmured, voice cloying through the ragged holes of his mask, "too frail they were, or weak of will."

Dwight swallowed. He cared rarely for the speech of the preacher, who ever vowed to deliver him from evil in exchange for tithings Dwight could scarcely afford, yet now, he desired to hear his words. He felt utterly exposed, like a seedling rooted to a cliff, battered by rain and opened by blazing wind. He huddled in one corner until the man put himself before him, and gestured with a tip of his chin, the wild teeth of his mask jutting nastily outwards.

“Do this for me, and you will be rid of me,” the man said, lifting his hand grandly towards the altar.

Rid? Dwight’s heart climbed towards his throat. Did he mean that he would leave the village alone if Dwight complied? Perhaps Dwight was suited for this—if all he needed to do was survive. “Do…what?”

He expected the pagan ritual to consist of bloodletting, spell-casting, or another manner of forest wickedness. Surely, he would die blasphemed. His conscience called to him, and his instinct to turn away.

"Put yourself upon the altar, or I shall put you there," the man ordered, and Dwight cowered, lifting a hand to heart and crossing it clumsily.

"I…I don’t—” he stuttered, and then shook his head in protest, "I don't wish to be party to some…h-heathen ritual."

The man shook his head in frustration and made to approach Dwight, who moved towards the door. Dwight found it wouldn’t budge, sealed as if with a stone on the opposing side, and so instead he crept along the walls. Each time he ducked away, the man followed with a long stride of his own.

“You _will_ be party, whether or not by force—your previous counterparts struggled awfully and only wasted their last minutes in vain,” the man mumbled, and Dwight shook his head in terror.

“What do you mean? Who came previous?” Dwight demanded, though his voice trembled. He ducked out of the way of the man’s swinging hand as it reached out to grab at his vestments.

“The ritual cannot be completed alone,” the man insisted, lunging to grasp Dwight’s collar, finding his fingers slip frustratingly through air, “it requires the transfer of spirit energy, and you are teeming with it.”

Dwight continued to flee, jumping out of the way of the man’s reaching hands, pushing past shelves and nearly tripping over buckets and urns piled on the floor. He wove between the stranger’s grabbing fists until they eventually found his shoulders, and dragged him back mid-leap.

“A bold effort. You put up a fine chase. Your eternal soul is spared; none will believe you went to this willingly,” Evan huffed sarcastically, “now, to the altar.”

Dwight struggled as he was hefted up again, this time by his shoulders, onto the table in the centre of the small room. He was pushed roughly onto his back, still wriggling to be free, when he found himself bound at the wrists to the table by ropes that proceeded thence. Freed from one pyre only to be fastened to another—he moaned in misery, heart rushing like a stampede as he felt his shoulder blades come together behind his back, his chest bowing upwards as his arms were pulled outward from his sides.

“I was a man, once,” Evan uttered while he worked to pull Dwight’s ankles out from where they were kicking and twisting, taking his shoes and stockings off, leaving his feet naked, “quite well-bred, even. Evan MacMillan, son of noble Archibald MacMillan, was I, and I suppose I still am. I have lived nearly a century, now. I’ve seen generations rise and pass on, children grow and families wither. Do you understand? I cannot die. I cannot leave this place until my debt is fulfilled.”

Dwight caught sight of an ornate knife on the table near to them and his heart began to race, his breath rushing to catch up, the air shredding his throat hotly and furiously. Evan’s hodgepodge explanation seemed to be delaying his fate, so Dwight bid him continue, shakily forcing out, “what debt? To whom are you indebted?”

“The one who rules over these woods,” Evan continued, and to Dwight’s horror, picked up the dagger from the table and held it above him. Dwight’s heart nearly stopped, only to start again after seeing Evan prick only his own palm, dripping a few drops of blood onto the floor. The stone there hissed and a glow began to seep upwards. “You would call it a god, maybe—the Entity. It did me a great favour in killing my tyrant father but sparing me. I have served it ever since with the essence of my soul.”

Dwight could barely comprehend the explanation, especially while the sharp knife was still so near to his breast. His eyes were fixed to it until Evan placed it back on the shelf and returned instead with a jar of fluid. Dwight flinched as Evan stuck two fingers into the pot and withdrew them shimmering with oil, which he painted over Dwight’s chest, on the white skin showing through his loose shirt. With one hand he pulled the fabric wider and with the other wrote designs on Dwight’s breast in an ancient lettering, messy but distinct, in loops and swirls. When completed, the sigil glowed briefly in yellow-gold, before seeping as if into Dwight’s body.

“The Entity draws _energy_ , feeds on it. It must be sated tenfold to abolish my connection to it—to save my soul, as it were,” Evan said, “no longer can I eke a living in this manner, catching pests to eat in my traps, terrorizing insignificant hovels such as the one whence you hail… my ilk was made for bigger things, I… never mind it. You will give me the energy I need.”

Dwight swallowed, his apple bobbing agitatedly. He knew the answer but once again was compelled to speak. “What kind of energy? Blood? The soul?”

Evan MacMillan gave him a curious look through the holes of his mask. “Something far older, something from _before_ the advent of the soul.”

Then came his hands to Dwight’s skin. They stroked across his chest, rough as wood, hot as irons, pushing his shirt from his pounding breast. The fingers, wide and flat, carefully worked the rest of the buttons out until Dwight’s chest and stomach were completely bare and exposed to the cool air of the sanctum.

Dwight gasped, panting resuming hurriedly anew as he realized what Evan’s intention was. A finger dipped into his navel, turning in a circle, molesting the tiny hole, while another stroked and pinched his nipple. Arousal tamped down by horror flared meekly in his belly—the man above him was very fit, indeed, and large, and his touches were gentle—but terror and spiritual betrayal acutely beat out bodily desire.

“You must not mean…” Dwight breathed, struggling not to permit the ideas that floated just outside of his mind to enter it. He must surely still be influenced by the medicine forced into him by his kinsmen a short time prior. Yes, indeed. This was a strange vision, a fiction. The creature of the woods wanted to…copulate with him? Nonsense.

“What must I ‘not mean’?” Evan asked, finding the waist of Dwight’s knickers and wrenching them down. He pulled until the garment was completely off, exposing Dwight’s privacy with one swift movement that had him tensing and drawing his legs together. Chuckling silently, Evan tossed the garment away, returning to Dwight’s naked lower half.

“Please,” Dwight whispered, “I’m not...” he struggled to find an alternative retort. He felt his head to be swimming with the force of pumping blood and searing breath. His brow began to sweat as Evan’s fingers, big and thick, wrapped curiously around his shaft, giving a few pumps. “I am not married. I am a God-fearing man. I…”

“Do you mean to say you’ve never been touched in this way before?” Evan asked, stroking him with one hand while the other held down his squirming knee.

Dwight breathed, eyes rimming with water. “…Yes.”

The man’s breath grew ragged, suddenly, and though he tried to hide it beneath his mask and a layer of unbreakable calm, the movements of his hands betrayed him. He gripped Dwight’s cock, pulling it to arousal with hasty strokes, while reaching for more oil. He slathered the substance across Dwight’s front and belly, his privacy and between his legs, guiding his hand in there.

Dwight yelped and pulled his thighs tightly together, trying to preserve anything left of his modesty. Two massive palms shifted his legs apart again, exposing his hole beneath a tangle of dark hair.

“Hold your legs apart,” Evan ordered, and Dwight shook his head. “Do it, or I shall tie them open.”

Dwight squirmed, trying to wriggle away from the man’s grip, to no avail. Evan was thrice his size in every manner, and merely wrenched his thighs wide when Dwight tried to stick them back together.

“Part your legs!” Evan said with sudden force, his voice booming and with a jagged edge that cut the air of the temple. He slammed his fist down on the stone beside Dwight’s hips and Dwight grew stock-still, even his trembles quieted by the man’s sudden violence.

Perhaps he had been convinced by Evan’s prior gentle handling of him, or influenced by his own arousal—but Dwight had lowered his guard only to be reminded that this, above him, was the creature that menaced his village. The beast who killed carried off butchered hogs and stole away young men, the monster whose lust for death was what kept him living—this was who stood above him. Dwight could not struggle if he valued his life. He shakily parted his legs.

“Place one foot here, and the other,” Evan demanded, and Dwight swallowed, his stomach roiling with fear as he was forced to keep his legs apart. The mad man, exceedingly calm, brought more oil over him, and poured it down between Dwight’s thighs so that it thoroughly slicked his hole, which clenched against the cold feeling.

Evan reached forward, breath breaking against his mask as he prodded Dwight’s inner space. The muscle was so small and tightly furled, untouched by any save Dwight’s own, curious exploration. Dwight nearly sobbed to realise his virginity was to belong to this…beast, this mad man, heathen of the forest. Long ago he’d hoped for a goodly stable boy as his first partner, that tall one with the wide stance and scar across his nose; or perhaps the sweet maiden with the red hair…but oh, how fate did not favour Dwight.

Evan applied a small bottle to Dwight’s hole and flooded it with cold fluid, enough so that the pressure hurt only slightly, and then forced the water back out with a bit of a push on Dwight’s lower belly. He did this once or twice more, collecting the fluid and wiping Dwight’s rear with a damp rag in between. When he was fully cleaned, Dwight felt distinctly more violated, his insides prepared for the man’s touch.

He struggled to keep his legs still as Evan sunk a finger inside to explore the space—just one was already agonizing, as it was broad and stiff, and Dwight could not imagine the girth of him given his height and weight. A finger struck against some small, hidden spot just inside him and Dwight yelped, spine going stiff.

A faint, nearly hidden glow seemed to trickle out from the floor beneath the altar, barely noticed by Dwight, who was already seeing stars from knocking his skull on the stone. The touch wasn’t completely pleasant, but the more Evan worked his fingertip against the spot, the more a wave of glittering energy worked its way up his chest.

“I will need to open this space, if it’s going to last the entire ritual,” Evan mumbled, as if to himself, admiring the way Dwight’s skin stretched to accept his finger. A second joined the first and Dwight keened, groaning in terror-pain.

Dwight let his chin fall to his shoulder, breathing so hard his spectacles grew misty. He twitched as his body received a third finger, a drizzle more of oil, and more pressure against that spot inside. He willed his body relax and accept the strain, but it was more frightening than anything he had yet faced to anticipate Evan putting _himself_ inside. For a moment, he prayed for it to come quickly, for Evan to just wrench wide his legs and stuff himself in quickly, to spare Dwight this sickly anticipation.

The fingers withdrew, dragging on Dwight’s insides as they pulled free. He flinched and prepared to be entered, but when it was not immediate, could not help but to look down between his raised knees.

Evan clipped himself carefully out of his coveralls, revealing a map of rough skin darkened by the elements. His shoulders were as broad as an ox’s, his stomach curving outwards just slightly, his pectorals heaving. Dwight felt faint just to see the size of the man’s body substantial frame, but then seeing his hardness, swaying languidly under its own weight, its heft impossible… God, he felt ill in his stomach.

Evan climbed up onto the altar with his knees and spread them between Dwight’s, lifting Dwight’s thighs up over his lap, the young man’s legs falling around his waist. Just the size of his pelvis forced Dwight’s legs wide, and he swooned as he looked down at the shape looming there. A few swift pumps brought him to full hardness and then Evan guided his shaft down to Dwight’s hole, pushing against the shiny pucker with the broad, hot tip.

“Please, wait,” Dwight protested meekly, “it’s my first time. You’re my first…” How he expected such a revelation to lend him mercy he knew not as soon as the words left his mouth, and by the pleased, determined grunt with which Evan replied, Dwight knew his fate to be keenly sealed. “You can’t…”

Evan pushed forward and Dwight’s legs tightened instantly, his toes curling and his knees going stiff. The head pushed inside, just to the crown, and Dwight cried, throwing back his head in a sob. It was so wide… he felt nauseous, his body protesting the size.

“It’s barely in you,” Evan whispered, “do not cry yet.”

Dwight moaned, breathing hard through his mouth as another increment of Evan’s massive cock slid inside him. Another push, and while Dwight’s body strained to adjust, Evan took his thighs and wrenched them wider apart, until the joints at his hips struggled.

“God,” Dwight moaned, throwing back his head, “God, help me…!”

Just then, with a jolt Evan snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt, effectively silencing Dwight, whose eyes flew wide as his body snapped taut. Letting out a long, miserable groan, Dwight dropped his head back, tears glittering on his lids and slipping down into his hair. He panted, open mouthed, feeling the beastly cock sheathed fully inside him.

“That’s it,” Evan whispered, circling his hips between Dwight’s limp thighs, “accept me.”

“God, forgive me…” Dwight whispered, turning away. Evan shifted and Dwight yelped, blowing through his mouth to try and relax his insides. Evan was so big that Dwight’s muscles had no grip on him, his body opened completely to admit the monstrous cock.

Evan grunted, pumping forward and beginning to thrust, setting a steady pace. Dwight cried and turned his head away, only for Evan to reach down and stroke his throat, draw his chin back down to look at his face. “I tried that, as well. I prayed to God to release me,” with the word _release_ he shoved forward, the force of his hips making Dwight’s back skid on the altar, and the lad whimper. “Here, He has no power against the Entity. There is only the Entity’s will…”

Dwight’s breath began to hitch as he struggled to accept Evan’s thrusts, and the man reached for his chin, pushing his mouth closed, forcing him to breathe through his nose. His eyes were wide and vivid brown as he stared at the monster pumping between his legs. “Breathe deeply, good. You cannot expire now. You have much work to do.”

Evan’s thrusts were steady, his breathing picking up pace as he drew closer to completion. Dwight’s shaft slumped flaccid against his hip, giving the occasional twitch of interest, but as Evan pulled back just slightly and found that electric space inside him, it began to stiffen again. Dwight cried and bit his lip as each thrust now stroked his secret spot, sending waves up his spine and washing across his limbs.

“Good,” Evan whispered, “that’s it. Your body is accepting me. Lift your hips in time with my movements.”

Dwight shook his head, but hands wrapped beneath his waist, drawing it up, making Dwight’s spine arch. The position drew Evan harder against the spot inside and Dwight’s toes curled helplessly behind Evan’s beastly hips. Between Evan’s words of encouragement and the slick slide of his cock inside, Dwight felt pleasure build inside him, and held his breath as orgasm flowed over him, the first of his urged forth by another’s touch. He muttered a benediction, _dear God, God save me_ , as Evan slipped out.

Dwight watched, mesmerized as Evan stroked himself to completion, cock sliding between his coarse fingers, and finally spilling on Dwight’s abdomen. The man let out a groan that was near a sob, deep and hoarse, his semen painting a line on Dwight’s hip. The gold runes that had been drawn on him before glowed briefly before going faint again. Through watery eyes, Dwight saw the floor beneath the altar glow a sinister blue for only a moment.

Blowing out a breath, Evan righted himself, stretching his spine, shoulders, and neck. He approached Dwight’s bound hands and set them loose, and Dwight brought them over his stomach, stroking there absently for his own innocent comfort. His fingertips dipped into the dollop of seed on his skin, prodding it with curiosity. It was over, Dwight thought, eyes gliding gently shut.

“Is it done, then?” Dwight mumbled, sinking into the pelt and blanket cushioning his body. The shocks and spasms of completion sparked only weakly in him, and he blinked over at Evan.

“Done?” Evan remarked, “nay. Tenfold, said I, did I not? Five from you and five from me.”

Dwight struggled to sift through the words, his mind as exhausted as his body. He tried to sit up, coming as far as his elbows before Evan stepped between his legs. This time, he stood on the stony ground, drawing Dwight’s hips to the edge of the altar, the lad letting out a soft “oop!” as he was dragged into position. He hardly got out a “wh-what in the world do you—” before Evan was sliding into him again, his cockshaft finding Dwight’s insides smooth and slicked.

“W-wait!” Dwight moaned, watching over his reclined belly Evan’s hips draw back and come forward, pounding into him. It hurt, but already his body was adjusting to the pain, taking it for miserable pleasure. He yelped and reached for his thigh, fingers digging in to the skin, white and unknown to the sun, dragging himself open.

“You appreciate now what is happening to you?” Evan murmured, tilting his hips up, lifting to the balls of his feet to better plunge himself inside. “You crave my shape?”

“N-no,” Dwight protested, but his belly quaked with interest, and his cock stood firmer with each push against his inner spot. “I am a…God-fearing man, the only ecstasy I require is His…divine… _aauh!_ ” The moan Dwight let out then was most unseemly, as was the way his head fell back between his shoulders. That he would be enjoying this was ludicrous. His body was merely finding familiarity in Evan’s touch.

Evan snapped his hips forward in short, elegant bursts, and Dwight moaned with each one. Orgasm drew near a second time, but this time Evan reached to stroke him through it, pulling expertly at his erect girth curving back towards his belly. Dwight came with a sob, falling back flat, his hands falling to beside his ears, his elbows and knees wobbling. Evan continued to pump, picking up speed until he hilted himself, deep, the pressure making Dwight numb, and then Evan came with a sigh, spilling seed this time into Dwight’s guts.

Again came a soft glow beneath the altar upon which Dwight was pinioned. He felt as though energy was seeping from him and into the cold stone below, and for a moment, he considered the potency of pagan magic. He rolled over onto his side, clutching at his waist, drawing the other hand to his lip, nibbling on his thumb.

Evan marched around the perimeter of their consummation bed. He rolled his shoulders, and tightened his fists, as if building back his energy. It afforded Dwight a modicum of rest, which he accepted heartily, breathing deep into his chest. He even let his eyes shut momentarily, opening them again to Evan’s monstrous shaft held before his nose. Half-erect, it dwarfed anything Dwight’s spying eyes had caught on the men of his village.

“Suck,” Evan commanded, and pushed the head towards Dwight’s lips. Dwight groaned and turned away, only for Evan to snatch his jaw and prize it open with inhuman pressure. Once parted, his lips spread over the wide member as it slid inside, weighty on Dwight’s tongue.

Dwight huffed and gagged but relaxed quickly, if only to preserve his safety, and sucked and licked. The taste was salt and bitter, and lingered with the cool oil Evan had used to clean him inside. Shortly, he felt Evan hard again, poking into the well of Dwight’s cheek with insistence.

“Well done. You’re well suited for this. One wonders if you didn’t go willingly,” Evan commented, and with renewed vigour, reached for Dwight again.

Dwight’s eyes went wide and a flush broke across his face as red as wine. “N-no!” He fought, pulling away and rolling off of the altar. His hands gripped the sides for balance, finding himself uneasy on his feet, the shaking limbs trembling beneath him. He pulled himself along the altar, his steps glowing blue wherever they touched the stone floor and its strange, spreading design.

“Where do you think you’re going to?” Evan barked, reaching for Dwight’s hips to drag him back against him. He hefted the lad with an arm around his waist, lifting him up above the altar and depositing him there like the offering he was.

“Leave me be, you…fiend!” Dwight demanded, kicking his feet at Evan, connecting heel firmly with bicep, pectoral and rib, the beast of a man barely disturbed save for the occasioned grunt of effort as he wrangled his prey back under control. “I don’t…I’m not…!”

“Hold still, damn you,” Evan ordered, tone slipping from amused to irritated quite quickly. He threw Dwight over onto his front, pressing an elbow into the lad’s back to suppress his squirming.

“I’m a devout man! I would never allow myself…to…I…!” Dwight protested in vain, wriggling his hips. He felt a thick hand grip his buttock and then Evan was shoving inside again, hardness renewed. Dwight’s spine tightened like a bow string and he chomped down on his lip, gripping the sides of the altar.

“I could not care less,” the beast of the woods announced through one thrust and the next, dragging his belly against Dwight’s back, peeling his shirt up in a slow, wet drag as it curled in the lad’s sweat, “if you enjoy this or otherwise. You are the means to my freedom, and only this.

“Breathe deeply and savour the drag of my cock inside your worthless belly,” Evan hissed, dropping low to Dwight’s ear such that his breath was a humid tang against his neck, “or fight and cry and pray to your impotent god. Either way suits me.”

Dwight groaned, tears pricking his eyes from frustration rather than pain. He’d grown accustomed to Evan’s size, the thickness of him, and now it was the traitorous pleasure that haunted him. Complain as he might, the intimacy of his heathen ritual was pleasing, if only to the basest senses with which a man was burdened. Dwight’s lip drew into a pout as he pulled at the furs edging the altar, his half-hard cock buried in the folds of blanket, slick with his fluid.

Dwight gasped as Evan lifted him up, pulling him by the hips so that his back bowed and his thighs angled upwards from the table, spread mercilessly wide. A yelp slipped from his lips as his hardness was now allowed to bounce beneath his belly, and there it bobbed, until Evan’s thick, calloused hand roughly handled it. He stroked crudely, quickly, and Dwight was breathing hard as he came, hiding his face in an elbow folded beneath his forehead. It was over too quickly, but the beast was still pumping into him, quickening his pace until he spilled with a groan.

There was a bright glow, the incandescence rising from the floor this time nearly painful to watch, and Dwight instead stared dully at the wall of the illuminated crypt. As he sunk down from the heights to which Evan had pushed him, Dwight felt energy seep from him, wash from his bones like soil from stone, the very room sapping his métier. He felt slightly wrung-out, and noticed Evan in a similar position, slumping against the stone wall.

“How many times…?” Dwight couldn’t help but ask, as he turned onto his side, stroking at his stomach, and picking at burrs on the greyish blanket beneath his aching bones. “How many times have you approached this ritual?”

The hunk of stone that made the beast of the woods was still. “Eleven,” he answered, plainly, and although the number fit with the amount of youths sacrificed from the village, to hear it aloud still made Dwight shudder. “Eleven times.”

“And each time, they…” Dwight asked, unable to keep his blasted mouth shut. Evan had his head slumped between his shoulders, breathing hard into his mask.

“Perished,” Evan answered, “though not by my rough handling. By the loss of energy.”

Dwight drew in a shuddering breath. He was not keen to expire in this…mortifying way. He stroked the fur beneath his fingers. He was tired; he felt as though tethered to the altar by weighted chains. Was it his fate only to be pulled, contrived and controlled, bent into shape by forces bigger than him?

“You…” Evan said softly, “are faring surprisingly well. Be commended.”

“I hardly find the praise of a _heathen monster_ flattering,” Dwight huffed.

Evan stood and approached Dwight, hovering over him, unbelievably hard again. Dwight dared look and saw a faint glow of watery blue surrounding Evan’s naked skin in places most sensitive and most private. He rested on his hands on the altar, leaning over Dwight and boxing him between his arms.

“What are you?” Evan asked. “You aren’t even damaged.”

I’m damaged _plenty_ , Dwight thought coldly, grinding his back teeth. “I simply don’t want to die.”

Evan let out a soft huff and guided himself between Dwight’s cheeks.

The fourth time was almost intimate, Dwight realized, and hid his face in his elbow. The beast of the woods thrust just gently into him, not out of consideration, but perhaps instead fatigue—either way, Dwight was grateful for the slight reprieve. He lifted his hips up in time with Evan’s movements, taking over, finally, when the man was too tired, it seemed, to keep moving. It was to get this over with sooner, Dwight convinced himself, as he sat up on his elbows and rocked back and forth on Evan’s cock, while the man stood with feet planted—and looking everywhere but the creature’s body.

Come on, _come on,_ he muttered through grit teeth, or perhaps it was only in desperation that he _thought_ it, trying to ease Evan into finishing faster. With a choked-out grunt Evan came, spurting white down Dwight’s inner channel, as Dwight drew his ankles to Evan’s back. Evan pulled away, panting awfully, his head tipped down, chin to chest, leaning heavily on the stone.

“You didn’t…” he said, gesturing weakly with his cheek at Dwight’s half-hard member, and the lack of bluish embers surrounding him. “Service yourself. The ritual demands five from _both_ of us; didn’t I say so?”

Dwight sat up with some effort, his back sore from the rock, his lower half pulsing steadily with pain. The smell of stone and sweat and wet fur seeped about him, and he turned up his nose at the prospect, and at this entirely unnatural ritual. Neither man nor beast was made to have this so many times; it was surely the work of some wicked, heathen magic that was allowing them to remain in this way.

“If you want it done, do it yourself,” Dwight said. A god-fearing man would not touch himself in such a crude manner, and outside of the purpose of sanctified coupling. It had nothing to do with his tastes, nor the beast of the woods’ uncommonly healthy and broad shape, indeed no.

Evan reached forward and circled a fist around Dwight’s shaft, stroking with a rather sluggish motion. With effort he made Dwight’s toes bend, and his legs start to jump excitedly together, only for Evan to push them back apart with an impatient hand. White light seared between Dwight’s temples and he hunched over, knees lifting instinctively, feet curling tightly, hands making tense fists. His cock slid through the hot tunnel of Evan’s hand, the fingers drawing his skin up and back in a luxuriating slide, and Dwight bit his lip to stifle a cry, head falling back. Belly arching to reach the stone ceiling, Dwight writhed as Evan continued to pump him, flame kindling in his stomach and spreading down the front of his thighs, his flushing chest, his arms, his fingers that kinked and sunk deep into the fur of the pelt.

He came with a strangled cry, “ _ooh!_ ”, and then fell flat, energy flooding through his limbs, the sigil beneath him slurping up the essence of his climax. Evan’s hand left his body, and Dwight awaited the intrusion inside him again, but shortly found it absent. He lifted his head to look over his pounding breast.

“None have made it this far before,” Evan said, heaving for air, his belly quaking with the effort just to stand. He fell back against the wall behind him, every exhalation slamming into his mask as he suffered each breath.

“It is…not yet done?” Dwight asked, cautiously. To come so far and not finish the ritual…the concept was almost more horrific than actually finishing it.

“I…can go no further,” Evan said, and a matter of hours ago, the admission would’ve relieved Dwight beyond measure. Surely this meant he could escape this wicked fate. His hips were achy and his limbs unbearably fatigued, and he doubted he could make it much farther than a few pathetic steps into the woods, but… Completing this awful ritual meant being rid of the menace of the moors, the monster of the forest, he who terrorized villages in hopes of sating his manic lust, his magic jinx. Dwight could end this. Perhaps it was in the nature of Dwight to put an end to things, when no one else dared.

He stood with much effort, and walked over to Evan, who had collapsed to the floor, slouched with limbs extended, head lowered. “You must…finish it,” he insisted, face flushed, “you can’t humiliate me this way only to _quit_.” His head felt as if it were spinning, his eyes hooded, but determined.

He climbed over Evan’s lap, straddling his thighs, and shaking him by the shoulder. “Finish this. Coward. You took my first time; you will not let it be in vain.”

Evan raised his masked face, a hint of lopsided smirk glinting beneath jagged jackal’s teeth. He reached for Dwight’s hips and dragged him towards his waist, lining him up over his hardness, which was there again, without his will, brought up by evil magic. He held the base firmly, letting Dwight sit down over it. Dwight guided himself in with some difficulty, chewing his bottom lip, digging his fingers into Evan’s scarred shoulders, the scabs forming long streaks of burning blue.

Dwight moaned, lifting his head towards the ceiling of the forsaken crypt, his eyes squeezed shut, lashes flecked with moisture as he rocked forward and back. The pressure was still immense, but it pushed on all the best places inside of him, and ecstasy bubbled in his abdomen, trickling down his shaking thighs. It took effort to stay balanced, but he was not about to give in, now. Evan was moving only slightly, his hands gliding up and down Dwight’s back, his hips rocking backwards and forwards, lending to a slow, indulgent rhythm.

Soon, pleasure started to flow unbidden, and Dwight looked down to see bluish smoke being sucked from his fingertips and into the floor. The sigil was behind his back, encircling the altar, glow flickering valiantly. As the colour bled from him Dwight felt his consciousness slipping, his heart thudding more dully, his gaze wavering. He continued to rock, pushing himself just a bit faster, gripping Evan’s shoulders to drag himself up and then pull himself back down.

The glow was being sucked from Evan as well, out of the scars crossing his bulging chest, his heaving stomach, and his rough fingers as they scoured down Dwight’s back. Dwight yelped as the tips turned inward, digging into the flesh between his shoulders as Evan gripped him desperately.

“Come on,” Dwight whispered, leaning forward, bringing his cock to Evan’s belly, rubbing sloppily against it, the touch on his frenulum ticklish and lightning. His hips twitched forward, his back bowing, eyes dark with pupils blown wide. Evan hilted himself with a sharp push, bringing himself deep, just _deep,_ grinding his hips in a circle in Dwight’s clinging hole. “Come on. Finish it. Finish—”

He gasped, throwing his head to the ceiling as a light burst, completion jumping over him. His vision went white, his remaining energy sluffing away like feathers, like water, dribbling down into the sigil. He groaned, pulling off of Evan’s cock with the last of his strength before collapsing against the broad, unassailable chest.

When Dwight awoke, it was in the arms of a stranger. Below him, a man, youthful, with soft, unmarred skin, a generous width to his shoulders and a flat stomach, plucked off the mask Evan wore and put it aside to reveal a smart, handsome face with a keen smirk and a dimple in the cheek.

Dwight tried to pull away, but the man held him still at the arms, and Dwight realized he could scarcely move besides. His energy was almost sucked dry—his ears sang and his gaze was blurry; there was no way he could stand. In his mind was only enough room for the question: did this work? Was the beast no more?

“It worked,” the stranger said, “this is how I used to look before the Entity took me.” He rubbed his jaw with an open hand, feeling the firm skin of youth grazed with a bit of light brown stubble. “How kindly your villagers will greet me now, when I visit them bearing this countenance.”

Dwight felt his skin crawl and leapt to his feet, smacking the man across the face.

“Damn you! Will I never be rid of you?!” His half-made fist drew nail marks across the young Evan’s unscarred face, and he stumbled, half-naked, clutching his tunic around him, backwards to the altar. The stone floor beneath his feet tingled with a carpet mild blue sparks, their potency quickly fading, as did the light in the sepulchre.

“I was joking,” Evan said, grasping at his face. A tiny line of blood appeared on the side of his neck, and he took it and rubbed it between two fingers before his eyes, in fascination. “I can bleed… yes, this means I can die!”

He stood on shaky limbs, as if unused to the gait, and wobbled over towards Dwight, backing him once more into the altar. Dwight could stand no more. He would take no more humiliation, no more strange worship. That he’d been used for this unnatural art was too much to bear, even if the sensations that still tingled lightly in his abdomen, and the memory of thick skeins of muscle bearing him hence was still potent in his imagination… He stepped backwards, finding the shelf behind him and grasping blindly while Evan advanced towards him, arms outstretched.

Dwight’s eyes flew wide as he took up the ceremonial knife discarded earlier. He held it before his chest, pointed squarely at Evan’s.

“Yes,” Evan chuckled, “you should be the one to do it. Kill me, like you saved me.”

Dwight stared at him, brown eyes black in the dim light, the candles casting across Evan’s frame. He was still tall, and bold, but he was thin and natural in figure, now, such that he could stand in easily for any of the men of Dwight’s village.

“Come,” Evan whispered, “you who awakened me. You’ve earned my end. Come, now.”

He held out his hands and slowly, deliberately drew them towards the knife clutched in Dwight’s hand. He placed them over Dwight’s, and drew the dagger towards his heart. Surely, this was the only fitting end. Dwight was sent here—on whatever humiliating pretense—to end the rampage of the beast of the woods, and so he should do it. He squeezed his eyes closed and let the blade surge forward.

Dwight righted his clothes, finding them undamaged, much like his body—at least outwardly. The magic sigil drawn on his stomach was only an invisible omen, now, and simmered softly, like coals, beneath his skin. How would his kinsmen behave upon his return, largely unspoiled, to the village? Would they be grateful for what he had done, or disappointed that he survived? Would he stumble back into town, body spent, hungry and tired, and stand before a collection of terrified townsfolk who rushed to aid him, or heartless boors who scarcely noticed his return?

As he walked back through the woods, mushrooms leaned towards his feet, and leaves turned towards his skin, and the light blue trail that it left. The heathen magic was still in him bore one name, not that of a beast or menacing creature, but a _man_ , with a cocky final smile on his untainted visage: Evan. The name would not soon be forgotten, even as his dark hold over the deep woods faded, and did the marks on Dwight’s skin.


End file.
